


Homecoming

by RobinLeStrange



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers Series - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Gloves, Leather Kink, Light Bondage, Massage, Mutual Masturbation, Post-War, Sex, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, and it's been a very long time for poor Constance, but Athos is not, d'Artagnan is still away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 06:50:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21175208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinLeStrange/pseuds/RobinLeStrange
Summary: The Musketeers are home from the war but D'artagnan's return is delayed by a fever, leaving Constance and Athos to their own devices.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anima Nightmate (faithhope)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithhope/gifts), [LulaIsAKitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/gifts), [hobbeshalftail3469](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Nevertheless](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14189991) by [Anima Nightmate (faithhope)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithhope/pseuds/Anima%20Nightmate). 

> My first attempt at a Musketeers fanfic, heavily inspired by the works of Anima Nightmate which feature a menage a trois between Constance, D'artagnan and Athos, namely 'A Beautiful Dream' and 'Nevertheless' (in particular Chapter 10).  
With thanks to Lula and Hobbes for beta reading.

The war is over, and word has reached the garrison that the Musketeers are finally on their way home. No-one knows exactly where they are or how long it will take them to reach Paris, and for Constance D’Artagnan the days are beginning to seem endless.

It’s Sunday, and she sits through the interminable church service, her restlessness increasing with the late summer heat. She fails to take in a single word of the sermon, her mind instead filled with thoughts of her husband, and less appropriately in the grand scheme of things, his friend and mentor Athos, who became their lover shortly before the war. She prays only that no-one will notice the flush rising in her cheeks, or the way she fidgets uncomfortably as she silently recalls every detail of the last time the three of them were together, on the eve of her wedding.

Afterwards, she returns to the garrison to complete her tasks for the day, a lighter workload than usual, before heading to the lake to bathe. The cool, clear water soothes her heated skin and mercifully goes some way to assuaging the frustration that has been rumbling through her throughout the day. She heads back relaxed, looking forward to supper and an early night.

* * *

Constance wakes to the clatter of hooves several hours later, by which time the sky has turned indigo and a sliver of moon casts it’s silvery light into her bedchamber. She leans out of her window and counts three men on horseback arriving into the garrison courtyard – the unmistakeably large, curly headed figure of Porthos, Athos, instantly identifiable by his hat, and the third, slim-figured, long haired…her heart sinks as he glances upwards and she recognises Aramis by his facial hair.  
  
Where is he?  
  
She throws a cloak over her nightgown for decency’s sake and runs down the stairs.  
  
“Where is he?”  
  
Athos and Porthos exchange a look, first with each other, then both with Aramis, who takes a step forward, reaching out a reassuring hand for Constance’s own.  
  
“He will be fine, and on his way home very soon.”  
  
Her eyes widen in horror, “What do you mean he will be fine?”  
  
“He caught a fever on the way home. He’s recovering now, at the convent, but really too weak to travel. We’ll go back for him in a week or so.”  
  
Constance slumps into a chair and lets out a hard sigh. Now she knows that D’Artagnan is not delayed by anything more serious, her initial worry turns to…disappointment? Anger? She’s aware of Athos watching her surreptitiously from behind the two other men and feels a shiver run the length of her spine. She can’t allow her mind to go there right now, so she pulls herself together and heads for the kitchen, where she assembles a selection of cold meat, cheese, bread, fruit and a jug of wine and takes it out to her husband’s weary colleagues.  
  
“Just leave everything when you’re done. I’ll deal with it in the morning,” she mumbles, before heading back upstairs.

* * *

Athos is subdued as his friends chatter, their moods lightened by the welcome arrival of a decent repast after days in the saddle. It is not unusual for him to withdraw into himself, and Porthos and Aramis, well-practised in respecting his need to disappear inside his own head make little attempt to engage him in their frivolity.  
  
His concern for D’Artagnan having abated over the long journey home, he has been battling with thoughts of Constance all day. When the young Musketeer had expressed a wish to maintain a relationship with both his mentor and his then fiancée, Athos had had his doubts, but much to his surprise, Constance had willingly agreed to the arrangement. He himself had been happy to go along with the relationship rather than lose D’Artagnan. What he hadn’t expected was how his friendly affection and respect for his lover’s wife would soon be teetering on the brink of turning into something else entirely.  
  
Porthos and Aramis head back out, refreshed and seeking more wine and possibly a round of cards or three at the local tavern. Athos declines their invitation and mutters something about not being as young as he was. He waits for several minutes after they have left, heart thundering, mind in turmoil, before finally climbing the stairs to the D’Artagnan’s rooms.

  
* * *

  
Constance, unable to sleep, lights several candles and lays on her bed, wide awake and restless. Her body tenses as she hears feet ascending the staircase. She thinks it’s him, but she can’t be sure. They hadn’t been living in the garrison together for long before the Musketeers went away to fight, and she can’t recall the sound of his footsteps in the same way she would have instantly recognised those of her husband.  
  
Even though she’s been listening and waiting, she still starts at the sound of a knock on her door.  
  
“Who is it?”  
  
As if she doesn’t really know.  
  
“Athos.” His voice is low, and she curses the way her body flickers at the sound.  
  
She opens the door and he enters cautiously, but he’s not quite prepared for the sensory overload that awaits him. The room looks exactly the same as when he last saw it, the wind sounds the same as it whispers through the leaves of the tree just to the right of the window, but the smell of the room has changed. Last time the air was suffused with all three of them, now there is her alone and as he attempts to take a calming deep breath, he almost chokes on her scent.  
“I came to check on you in light of the news about D’Artagnan,” he says, keeping his distance, his breathing now purposely shallow.  
  
“It cannot be helped,” she shrugs, but her eyes are bright with unshed tears and she is pacing the room like a caged animal.  
  
“He will be well, and home soon,” Athos tries for a reassuring tone, “It is better that he recuperates a while longer. You must be patient.”  
  
“Patient?” she cries, rounding on him in the candlelight. “Patient?! That’s easy for you to say. It’s been months, you’ve had each other all that time…”  
  
“We were fighting a war,” his voice isn’t angry, but it’s lost its soothing timbre.  
  
“And you’re telling me in all that time, all those months and months you were gone, you never had the opportunity to offer one another comfort?”  
  
Athos stands, head bowed, unable to meet her eye.  
  
“Exactly. You may have been fighting a war but at least you weren’t alone. Whilst I was here waiting with nothing but my memories and my…” she pauses, flushing.  
  
Athos looks at her across the room, taking in her blazing eyes and flushed skin beneath her thin cotton nightgown, her long auburn plait laying thick on her left shoulder.  
  
“And your what, Constance?” his quizzical eyes bore into her.  
  
Her breathing is rapid and her cheeks are on fire. She knows she’s about to cross a line, but no longer has it within her to care.

“Nothing but memories and my hand for company,” she whispers, bringing her eyes to meet his, embarrassment replaced with boldness, and maybe, he thinks…hopes, a hint of challenge.  
  
His eyes flick slowly from her face to the bed and back again.  
  
“Lie down, Constance,” his words are commanding, but his tone is gentle. She is well aware that she could refuse, but seeing him standing there, leather and muscle bathed in candlelight, she knows that she would do absolutely anything to keep him in the room looking at her like that.  
  
He leans up against the small writing bureau at the end of her bed.  
  
“Show me.”


	2. Chapter 2

It takes a few moments for Constance to remember to breathe, but the moment she does, she is following Athos’ instructions, lying on the bed facing him, inching up the flimsy cotton shift and moving her hand beneath the fabric, careful to reveal only just enough flesh and no more.

She doesn’t take her eyes from his for a second, and he is disarmed by her lack of inhibition. He’s seen it before, of course, when D’Artagnan has been with them, but it’s never been just the two of them. It’s never been like this.

Athos watches, transfixed, as her slender fingers stroke their way up her soft, pale thighs and tangle in the bronze curls that cover her mound. Slowly she parts her legs allowing her hand to move lower and her fingers to delve between her swollen lips.

Constance hears Athos’ suck in a deep shuddering breath and repositions herself slightly to ensure he has the best possible view of her middle finger sliding languorously back and forth, becoming increasingly slick with her juices. She’s unsure whether she’s more turned on by her own ministrations or by the look on Athos’ face as he watches her. She drops her eyes to his groin and even by candlelight his arousal is obvious, the realisation causing a quiet whimper to escape her lips.

She needs more and raises one hand to skim her breasts, her nipples clearly visible as small hard peaks beneath the fabric. She parts her legs a little further and slips one finger easily inside her cunt, eliciting a deep groan from Athos. His cock is swollen almost painfully against the constraints of his leather breeches and his hand moves to open them, but Constance’s voice pulls him up short.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He has no words, but he pauses and stares at her, slightly shocked at the firmness of her tone.

“If your hand moves any lower, I’ll stop. Do you want me to stop touching myself Athos?”

His mouth is dry and he licks his lips as he slowly shakes his head, sending a surge of lust straight to her core. She knows only too well the havoc that tongue can wreak given the opportunity. Still she hasn’t faltered in her rhythm and she tilts her hips and adds a second finger, pushing them deeper so they make a delicious noise as she slides them slowly in…out…in…out…

She sees Athos’ hand twitch again and stops for a second time, although it’s a battle now she can feel her orgasm beginning to build.

“I said no touching…put your hands on the bureau and keep them there.”

There’s an anguished response on his lips but he is as stubborn as she is, and he won’t give himself away any more than he already has done. As his hands grip the polished wood, she notices that he’s still wearing his leather riding gloves and wonders what they would feel like on her…in her…

He can see how wet she is, the moisture shimmering on her thighs. His urge to ignore her instructions and launch himself at the bed so he can touch her is almost overwhelming. She’s circling her clit with her thumb as her fingers thrust deeper and harder. She’s obviously getting close now, struggling to maintain her focus on him, and just as he is on the verge of literally falling to his knees and praying that she’ll close her eyes long enough for him to move his hands to where he so desperately wants them, she momentarily regains her focus and instructs him to do just that.

Constance slows her movements to watch him as he tugs off the first leather glove with his teeth, before removing the other. He loosens his belt and unfastens his breeches. When he takes himself in hand, his actions are deliberate and unhurried, ensuring she’s able to see exactly how hard he is for her. Athos fails to contain his smirk of satisfaction as she groans in response to the sight of his impressive cock, but his smugness is only fleeting as he begins moving his fist in slow, firm strokes, perfectly matching the rhythm of her own hand.

The chamber is filled with the sounds of their breathing, ragged and broken as their pleasure builds simultaneously. Constance is barely able to maintain eye contact now, head frequently thrown back, eyes closed. Athos is managing slightly more restraint, determined to see her come before he reaches his own climax and it’s a matter of moments before he’s rewarded for his patience as her body arches off the bed and she moans with pleasure. The sight and sound drives Athos toward his own release and he pumps his fist harder around his shaft until he finally relinquishes all control with a hoarse groan of satisfaction.


	3. Chapter 3

Constance stretches like a cat and lays still on her side, eyes closed, affording Athos a modicum of dignity whilst he cleans himself up, using the still-damp cloth from her sojourn to the lake earlier that day. She hears him remove his jerkin and boots and listens to the sound of him moving closer until eventually she feels his weight behind her. 

He bends his head into the soft curve where her neck meets her shoulder and breathes her in as he as he strokes the back of his fingers along her arm until he reaches her hand. He pulls it to his lips and slowly takes each finger into his mouth, swirling his hot tongue around each digit, relishing the lingering taste of her and the small, soft sighs of pleasure his attentions are causing.

“Better?” he murmurs, allowing a hint of smile to grace his lips.

“It’s a fair start,” she teases back, turning over and pulling his head down for a lingering kiss that rapidly gains traction until they are both gasping for breath, her hands exploring his chest where his shirt is half open, whilst his hands slide up her thighs, pushing her shift higher and higher…

He pauses for a moment, unsure what the rules are now, without D’Artagnan’s presence. Does it make a difference? Of course it does, he thinks, but still, they are not doing anything they haven’t done before with him either watching or joining in. He drags his mouth reluctantly from hers, his eyes casting down the length of her body. 

“May I?” he whispers.

“Please,” she breathes, raising herself up enough for him to easily drag the delicate fabric over her head. The moment it is gone, she’s pulling at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against her. He helps her pull it off then straddles her. His hands drop to his belt, hanging open at his hips and he pulls it free keeping it in his hand as he leans over her, raising her arms above her head, dipping his own to suck one of her nipples deeply into his mouth. In the moment her eyes close and her head drops back, his hands are at her wrists and she feels his belt tighten around them before he fastens it securely around the carved bedpost.

Her eyes fly open and meet his immediately, but there is no hint of fear there, only anticipation.

“Now it’s your turn to be patient,” he taunts her, “Close your eyes…and keep them closed.”

She does as she’s told and feels his weight lift from over her and off the bed completely. Athos is stealthy on his bare feet and for a short while she has no idea of his whereabouts. Then, suddenly, he’s touching her again, although it isn’t warm flesh she can feel. His leather gloves are cool, but they leave a scorching trail across every inch of skin they encounter.

Athos would prefer to feel that soft skin underneath his fingertips, but he noticed her sharp intake of breath when he removed his gloves earlier and it’s worth the sacrifice to watch her reaction to the way they feel against her naked body. Goose bumps spring up immediately in their wake, and she writhes against his touch, the sound of her moans sending a rush of heat through him and making his cock twitch against her.

Yes, he thinks, it’s worth it. They have all night, and besides, there’s always his mouth…

He covers her body with his, and she sighs at the feel of his chest hair against her sensitive skin even before he claims her mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue is sliding slowly against hers and she matches him stroke for stroke until he pulls away, breathless, and begins tracing a path down her throat with his lips whilst his gloved fingers roll and pull at her nipples until she can’t help but whimper.

He smiles against her skin and continues his journey down her body, detouring at first one breast, then the other, swirling his tongue over each pale, soft curve before sucking the taut peaks into his hot mouth. She’s trying to grind her hips against him, but he’s straddling her and with her wrists bound she’s barely able to move. All she can do is groan in frustration.

His hand wanders across her belly. It tickles deliciously and she trembles under his touch which is already moving lower as he lifts himself off her. Her legs part automatically as he reaches the soft, deep amber curls that cover her mound, but he bypasses her core and strokes slowly down her inner thighs. Her eyes are still tightly closed, but she can feel the intensity of his gaze upon her as his hand moves upwards again, inexorably closer. Then there’s a pause and then…nothing.

The nothing lasts several seconds, but she’s desperate for his touch and it feels like minutes before his fingers ghost along the length of her slit, gentle at first, then with more pressure, until they slip between her swollen lips and graze her clit causing a spasm of pleasure to shoot through her entire body. He strokes lower, pressing at her entrance in increasingly increments until his leather encased finger glides wetly inside her.

The gloves are a hindrance now and he brushes his fingertips over her lips, so she can taste herself on them.

“Bite,” he orders softly. Her eyes open and meet his and his breath comes faster as she takes the wet digit in her mouth, sucking the length of it, tasting herself, her eyes never leaving his. When she’s done, she catches one fingertip between her teeth and he tugs his hand free and throws the offending article to the floor.  
His left hand replaces it.

“Again.” 

For a moment his hands are swarming over her body, reacquainting themselves with the feel of her skin, his mouth following closely behind, and then his head is between her thighs. The soft prickle of his facial hair sets every nerve ending dancing even before his mouth makes contact, and then he delves his tongue into her musky, wet heat, groaning at the taste of her. He toys with her entrance before working upwards, tracing leisurely circles around her clit then flicking the underside of the tip of his tongue repeatedly against the swollen flesh. He slides two fingers deep into her slick heat and she arches off the bed.

“Stop…Athos…please.”

He ceases immediately, his face a picture of concern as he raises his eyes to meet hers.

“You want me to stop touching you?”

“No…yes…no,” she pants, desperately trying to steady her breathing. Athos slides up the bed and releases her wrists and immediately she pulls him down and kisses him furiously, keen for him to know he’s done nothing wrong.

“Athos, I want you to touch me…”

He smiles with relief, and a hint of mischief in his limpid green eyes.

“…I want you to touch me…the way you touch D’Artagnan.”


	4. Chapter 4

His eyes widen.

_She wants what?!_

“Really?”

“Really,” she nods.

“The thing is…um…we’d need…”

“Dressing table, top drawer.”

“Oh.”

He stares down at her intently. It’s not that he objects to the idea, he just wasn’t expecting…well, he wasn’t expecting any of this when he arrived back at the garrison. Although he may have hoped, briefly, before putting the idea firmly to the back of his mind once D’Artagnan became ill. The thought that it could be just the two of them…that was something he hadn’t dared countenance, at least consciously. Truth be told his dreams had had different ideas for weeks.

“Well then?” she breaks his train of thought and he levers himself off the bed, flustered.

“Yes, sorry, of course…”

She can’t hide her amusement at how she’s already discomfited him, nor can she resist the urge to press her advantage.

“And Athos…” her words stop him immediately, “…for God’s sake take those breeches off.”

He regains his composure slightly and smirks slightly at her reaction as he strips beside the bed. He can’t see her continuing appreciative gaze as he heads over to the dressing table. Her eyes rove freely over the well-muscled shoulders and back, and his firm, well-defined arse, and she’s taken aback by how much she feels the loss of him after so much closeness.

Luckily, he wastes no time in returning to her side and pressing the small bottle of oil into her hand, before kissing her hungrily, his substantial erection growing even harder against her thigh.

“You’re sure?”

She gives him a look that brooks no argument and in moments he’s kissing his way down to her thighs, easing them apart with licks and gentle bites. He takes the bottle, removes the stopper and anoints his hand before allowing several golden drops to fall directly onto her. Her breath is already coming shorter and faster as he puts the bottle on the floor and returns his attention to where it is most needed, his fingers dexterously working the combination of oil and her own juices deep into the cleft of her backside.

She wonders briefly how D’Artagnan felt the first time he and Athos did this, then pictures the look on his face the last time the three of them were together. The image in her mind is as clear as if he were in the room with them and a whimper of arousal escapes her lips, building to a long, desperate moan of pleasure as Athos drops his mouth to her sex and begins sucking and laving at her again.

And then she feels it, the gentle pressure of his middle finger penetrating the tight ring of muscle, and she’s holding her breath, waiting for more as he watches her reaction, ready to withdraw at the first sign of any discomfort or change of heart.

It doesn’t come and he presses into her more insistently, withdraws a little, presses in again, deeper this time, the rhythm of his tongue still insistent, its wet heat lapping at her clit. She’s relaxed enough now for him to gently slide his finger back and forth inside her and she pushes back at his hand, leaving him in no doubt that she’s enjoying this new sensation.

“Athos…oh God, that feels…mmmm…please, Athos…please…”

She’s not entirely sure what she’s asking for, but somehow, he instinctively knows, and he slips his thumb effortlessly into her cunt, his thrusting movements alternating between digits as she writhes and arches beneath him. He watches her for several moments, mentally cataloguing every sound she makes in response to his touch, until he senses how very close she is, and leans forward to suck her swollen bud deeply into his mouth again.

He has barely taken possession of the sensitive flesh, when she comes extravagantly, shuddering and bucking as she tightens like a silken vice around his fingers, and almost screaming her release into a nearby cushion.


	5. Chapter 5

He slowly removes his fingers and slides up the bed, gathering her into his arms, boneless and trembling with pleasure, aftershocks still rippling through her body. He strokes back the russet curls that have come loose from her braid and cups her face in his hands, covering her lips with tiny, gentle kisses until she comes around sufficiently to open her eyes and gaze back at him.

For some time that is all that Constance is able to do, mesmerized by the man beside her, what they’ve done, what he’s given her. He doesn’t want to tear his eyes away, but he forces himself to do just that, rolling onto his back, one arm around her pulling her with him so her head rests on his shoulder.

The room is silent save for the sounds of their breathing, now slowed to an almost normal speed, and although he is still aroused, he assumes they will sleep. Constance, however, has other ideas.

She nuzzles his hair aside to trace her hot tongue around the curve of his ear, exploring deeper before dragging her teeth over his lobe, rewarding his sharp intake of breath with a firm nip to the soft flesh. She sucks gently on it, soothing the sting of her teeth, then continues her path down his neck and across his collarbone. All the while her fingertips are spiralling through the thick, dark hair on his chest, teasing and stroking. She drags her nails lightly down his torso, glancing up to watch his reaction. Athos raises his head from the pillow and watches her right back, his eyes almost black with desire, boring into her soul-deep.

Constance lifts herself upright and straddles the top of his thighs, just far enough down that he can’t quite feel the moist heat emanating from her centre, even though she’s tantalisingly close. She can see that the nearness is disturbing him and smiles a wicked grin, leaning forward to press her breasts against his torso so he can feel her bullet hard nipples pressing into his abdomen. He’s been resolutely silent throughout her slow torment thus far, but she knows it’s costing him and she’s determined to break his resolve.

She slides further forward against his body to kiss him, sucking his tongue into her mouth, working her lips around it in a motion that sends a thunderbolt of sensation straight to his shaft, before she pulls away, catching his lower lip and dragging it lightly between her teeth. Her tongue trails down the length of his throat and then her mouth is hovering over his right nipple and the sensation of just her breath on him is enough to make him twitch against her stomach. She catches the small pink nub delicately between her teeth, scraping and teasing, soothing with her tongue before delivering a short, sharp bite.

“Fuck!”

“Again?”

But she’s already repeating her actions on the other nipple and his only response is a deep growl of tortured pleasure.

Suddenly she moves away and his eyes fly open, but she’s simply stepped away for a moment to pick up the small bottle of oil from the floor. She stands beside the bed, not taking her eyes from his as she pours a generous amount into her hands, rubbing it between her palms to warm it, before seating herself between his legs and commencing a slow steady massage from just above his knees upward across his firm thighs. She sighs at the feel of his firm muscle beneath her hands, honed from years in the saddle, and leans into him, her fingers working into his inner thighs, slowly moving higher and higher. 

Her hands are warm and slippery, gently cupping and caressing his balls, and his soft moans of pleasure seem to travel directly from her ear to her clit and she realises she’s whimpering too, almost imperceptibly. Athos reaches down to grasp his throbbing cock but Constance bats his hand away.

“I don’t think so, soldier…” she purrs, replacing his hand with her own as the other continues fondling his balls. Unable to touch himself he levers himself semi upright so he can reach her breasts and get a better view of her actions. She looks up into his eye momentarily, then dips her head and licks, with her tongue broad and flat, from his balls all the way up to the head of cock, and immediately he drops back against the pillows, moaning his surrender.

She kisses her way back down, all moist lips and hot breath, and he feels like steel in velvet beneath her mouth. Then her tongue swirls back up again and she’s lapping against the underside of his head, making him whimper with need. She traces her tongue around his tip in slow, teasing circles.

“Constance…oh God…please…please…” he begs, and she feels a spasm of pure lust between her legs at bringing him to this point.

She replaces her mouth with her hands, stroking gently as she sits up and looks at him.

“Please what?” she questions, feigning innocence, a wicked smirk on her lips all the while, “Tell me exactly what you want, Athos.”

He gazes up at her, and in a split second all the other times flash before her mind’s eye, yet she can’t ever remember seeing him look so darkly aroused before.

“I want your lips around my cock, Constance…” he growls, “…let me fuck your mouth.”

And in a second she’s on him, tonguing his leaking slit before taking his head in mouth, licking and sucking as she looks him straight in the eye, before sliding her lips inexorably down his pulsing length, taking him deeper.

Athos cannot take his eyes off her, is unable to believe he will ever have enough of the sight before him, or of the sensation of the hot, wet pressure of her mouth. His hips thrust upward a little and she takes him deeper still, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks hungrily at his length, tongue working as she slides up and down his shaft. Within a minute or two, she’s letting him take control and he’s rocking urgently into her hot mouth, although her hands on his hips prevent him going any further than she can manage. The subtle restraint is fine by Athos as she’s already taking so much of him, he’s afraid he’ll lose control faster that he wants.

Her fingertips trail lightly down his inner thighs, nails scratching at the sensitive skin at the same time as she slowly lifts her mouth, baring her teeth to scrape ever so gently up his length. He thrusts up, desperate for her mouth and she lowers her head simultaneously, miraculously taking his full length. At the same time, she gives his balls a gentle squeeze and sucks on his aching flesh and he comes deep in her throat, trying to call her name but rendered too breathless to manage anything more than a ravaged groan.

Constance kisses her way back up his body, looking excessively pleased with herself, and some minutes later, when he’s recovered enough to speak, Athos dares ask her how she has perfected her extraordinary skills whilst they’ve been away.

“What can I say?” she shrugs, smiling wickedly. “It was a very good summer for cucumbers.”

To her delight he allows himself a rare, precious chuckle, and pulls her into his arms. Finally, they sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Athos wakes several hours later to the feel of Constance’s lips against his shoulder and lies contentedly listening to the birds begin to sing in the tree outside the window as the night sky lightens from black to indigo to cobalt. Her clever tongue works its way around and over his torso, taking in his erect nipples, tracing the line of dark hair leading down his stomach to what is once again, thanks to a few hours rest, his magnificent erection. He feels her nipples brush against his hardness and groans softly.

“Constance, I’m starting to think you’re insatiable.”

She takes a breath and licks her lips. He can hear her weighing her thoughts and a sense of trepidation washes over him. When she opens her mouth to speak, it’s everything he fears and everything he desires at the same time.

“That’s because you haven’t given me what I want yet, Athos.”

She allows a few moments for her words to sink in before she meets his eye. His gaze is penetrating her to the core, terror, outweighed by lust. It is all she needs to see and she straddles him, pressing down just enough for his shaft to slip between the hot, slick folds of her pussy. He makes a noise halfway between a sigh and a moan and she slides over his length, grinding her clit against his solid heat.

“Constance…” his voice is beyond ragged, his heart thundering, “…what are you doing?”

“I want all of you Athos, I need to feel you inside me.”

She stares down at him, resolute, and he is painfully aware that he is close to powerless against her clear blue gaze.

Still, he needs to rationalise the situation. They both know that the sex is incredible, even with just the two of them. They both know they care about one another. Putting the two together in the most intimate sense, it’s only natural, but…dangerous, so very dangerous. 

But she’s looking at him like that, and he can feel her softness against him, the heat of her centre radiating against his cock which is already wet where she’s been gliding over him. She leans forwards and her nipples are like bullets against his chest, pressing a little harder every time she inhales.

“Please, Athos…” 

He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. She needs him and he is aching to give himself to her, he just needs to find a way to do that without the feelings in his body and the feelings in his heart colliding. 

By the time he breathes out and opens his eyes, she’s laying next to him, watching him make his decision, her hand ghosting up and down his body. He captures it in his and drops a kiss into her palm as he turns to face her.

“Will you turn over for me, Constance?”

Her pupils flare and he catches her sharp intake of breath. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly in response, and a faint smile crosses her lips as she rolls onto her belly, and then kneels, raising her flawless, white curving arse to the perfect height and parting her legs slightly so he can kneel between them. His hands are soft and warm against her skin as he caresses her, finding his way to her hips, curling the fingers of one hand into her flesh and pulling her back, as he positions himself with the other. He rocks just the tip of his cock into her soft, wet folds as he reaches round to stroke her with a featherlight touch, until she’s whimpering with need…at least he thinks she is…it’s entirely possible that those desperate noises are of his own making. And in that moment, he acknowledges that there is no choice to be made and, unable to hold back any longer, eases his hot, hard length into her in one slow steady thrust.

Constance sighs with relief and pleasure as if she’s been holding her breath for several minutes, and he withdraws almost completely, with painstaking slowness before repeating the movement again…and again…and again, feeling her quiver against him, biting down on his lip to try and retain some semblance of control. He wants to feel more of her, and he slides one hand up her back, coils her braid between his fingers and around his wrist and gives it a firm but gentle tug, bringing her upright against his chest so he can reach round to cup and stroke her breasts as he continues his steady rhythm.

The ribbon comes away as they move together, and he buries his head in the sea of silky, auburn waves that spill over her shoulders and down her back. He pulls back up again and she turns her head so their eyes meet, just as he hits a spot deep inside her that makes her buck and moan against him and in that moment, all his resolve unravels entirely.

He withdraws swiftly, tumbles her onto her back and pulls her into his arms, crushing her against him as he claims her mouth in a kiss that’s at once passionate and bone-meltingly tender.

“Athos…” her hands are in his face, fingers weaving through his hair, “…please don’t stop…I want this…I want you…”

“Oh God…Constance…” 

It’s all he can manage to groan as her hands reach his arse and she’s pulling him back inside her. Her small, sharp nails digging into the crease where his buttocks meet his thighs, creating tiny pinpricks of pleasure-pain that make him thrust just that little bit harder…deeper…faster.

He lowers his mouth to her breasts again, sucking, gently biting and then laving his tongue against her sensitive skin. He’s fighting the urge to come so hard that it’s almost painful but he’s determined to see her reach her peak first.

Constance grinds up to meet his relentless cock, grasping his hips to ensure that exactly the right spot is getting exactly the right amount of pressure, and he can soon sense that she’s tantalizingly close. He strokes her hair back from her face, slowing his pace to drag the pleasure out for however many more seconds they can both manage, and utters hoarsely, “Constance, look at me.”

She does, and a split second later he plunges into her for the final time and watches her shatter in his arms, feeling her tight, wet, heat spasm around him and send him over the edge, crying her name so loudly the sound of his voice drowns out the dawn chorus in the tree outside the window.


End file.
